Hand the Ball to the Damn Referee, Patrick

Man, he would have loved this. All of it. 

My grandfather, that was my guy. He was the one who drove me around everywhere. Basketball, baseball, football, conditioning, everything. I’m from just outside of Boston. It’s a lot like Pittsburgh, actually. Whenever fall comes around and those leaves start changing, and you start smelling football in the air, that’s the best feeling in the world, right? That first chilly day. Friday Night Lights. Even the grass smells different. I can close my eyes right now and I’m back in my grandfather’s Chrysler with the old leather seats and the windows down. Frank Sinatra playing on the stereo, on my way to a practice. That feeling is priceless. 

My parents were both teachers and coaches, so in the fall, they were super busy. All those rides fell on my grandfather, and he never complained. He loved it, actually. He had this old green lawn chair in the trunk of his car, like one of those ones you’d get at Walmart. It must have been from the ’80s. You know what I’m talking about. The cookout chair. The metal frame. Uncomfortable as hell, but somehow, he thought it was perfect. 

“Pa, we’ll get you a nice chair.” 

“What do I need another chair for? I like my chair.” 

(You know this kind of guy. Everyone in Boston knows this guy. Everyone in Pittsburgh, too.) 

Every single time I came out of the locker room for a game or a practice, he’d be sitting in the same spot in his chair, right next to this other grandpa. They were an institution. You know the movie Grumpy Old Men? That was them. Sitting there in their winter hats, watching practice, chilling. When I graduated from high school, we actually gave them a framed picture of that movie. The funny part was that my brother is four years older than me, and he played football too. So my Pa graduated one Freiermuth and then did another four years with the other Freiermuth. He must have watched 100 games and 700 practices from that chair. 

One year at Christmas, we’d finally had enough. We got him a fancy chair. I think it had real cloth and a cup holder and everything. 

He hated it. 

“I don’t like the angle.” 

He went back to his old chair. He said it was “broken in.” 

Me and Pa used to have this little deal where he’d take me to the convenience store to get a snack after practice if he thought I played hard. (“Don’t tell ya mother.”)

But I loved McDonald’s as a kid, so that kind of transformed into him taking me to McDonald’s if I had a really good practice. (“Seriously, do not tell ya mother.”) But I’m 15 years old, with the 15-year-old metabolism, so I’m eating like six double cheeseburgers or whatever — just crushing fries. And then I’m coming home and my mom’s got like steamed fish and carrots for dinner. 

“Pat, why aren’t you hungry? What’s going on with you?” 

Pa would take the McDonald’s bags and hide the evidence at his house. But the thing is, my grandma had passed away before I was born, and he actually lived with my aunt — my mom’s sister. She couldn’t be trusted with that information. She was going to rat us out for sure. And you know how those McDonald’s wrappers smell. Even when that burger is gone, you can’t hide the evidence. 

My aunt thought my grandfather had a problem. 

She brought out the trash bag one night. “Why are you eating so much McDonalds? You’re 75 years old. What’s going on with you?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s Pat. Do not tell your sister.” 

We kept that from my mom for years. I’d be eating like six green beans for dinner. “I’m good, mom. I’m stuffed.” And I’m growing to like 6-foot-5. Hahahah. She didn’t know what was going on. 

It’s funny, but whenever something sh*tty happens to me now — whether it’s in a game or in my real life, I always put on a Frank Sinatra song, and I just think back on those times. My grandpa used to write me these notes before every game. Hand-written, of course. He’d give it to me as I was getting out of the car, and I’d read it in the locker room. It had something different every time, but at the end of every single one, it always said: 

Pat …. keep your feet on the ground …. and reach for the stars.

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I always wanted to be a football player. Ever since I was 6 or 7 years old, I couldn’t sit still when my family was watching a Pats game on TV. I’d watch the first quarter and then I’d be out in the backyard, playing the game in my imagination. We had this shed out back that my dad had converted into a kind of locker room for me and my brother. Literally, he had two real lockers in there, with Patriots stickers on them. There was an old boom box and this little window, and I remember me and my brother used to blast our pregame music and stare out the window onto “Foxborough.”

We had to go through our entire pregame ritual, with the stretching and everything, like it was all real. It was real. Even when my brother wasn’t there and it was just me, I was 100% committed. I’d run out of the tunnel in my helmet and pads and there were 60,000 people there. I’d give myself goosebumps every time. I just loved football, man. Absolutely loved it. It’s in our blood as a family. My uncle was a college coach, and by the time I was in high school he was at UMass. 

He was actually the first recruiting call that I ever got. This was before NIL, so we had to be very careful not to commit any violations. I think he was scared to buy me a Christmas gift. He called me up one night, not as Uncle Mike, but as Coach. 

Even the tone of his voice was a little different. 

“Pat, how are you? It’s uncle…. It’s Coach Foley from UMass.”

I’m like, “Uh, I’m good. What’s wrong with you?”

“We’d love for you to come here to UMass. As you know, this program….” 

He did the whole speech, as Coach. 

I was pumped, I’m not going to lie. By the end of the call, I was ready to commit to UMass. But then I remember he ended it with, “As a coach, we’d love for you to say yes…. But as your uncle, I think you should probably wait.” 

I just loved football, man. Absolutely loved it. It’s in our blood as a family.

- Pat Freiermuth

It was good advice. In the end, I had some amazing schools recruit me. BC, Notre Dame, Michigan, Ohio State.… But something just felt different about Penn State. I guess I was getting pulled closer and closer to Pittsburgh. I remember I met with Coach Franklin, and I actually committed on the spot in his office. He asked me all about my journey, and my family, and when I told him how much my grandfather meant to me, he said, “Can I call him?” 

I said, “You want to call my grandpa? Now?”

I said, “He might have a heart attack if he picks up a random number and it’s Coach Franklin, but OK.”

And yeah…. He called, and Pa almost had a heart attack. It was awesome. 

Coach said, “I just wanted to be the first person to tell you that your grandson is going to play for Penn State.” 

That was the start of a real bond between me and my family and Coach and his whole family. I don’t say that lightly. It was just a different thing with me and Coach Franklin. I got really close with his wife and his daughters, and they always kept me in check. They kept my feet on the ground, as Pa would say. I remember my freshman year, after I scored my first couple touchdowns, I’m sitting in the tight ends room, and the guys were like, “Man, we need to work on your touchdown celebrations. We gotta think of something cooler for you dude.” 

I think I just spiked the ball the first couple times, and Pa didn’t even like that. Too much for him. “Pat. Pat. What are you doing out there? Just hand the ball to the damn ref, Pat. ACT LIKE YOU BEEN….”

(You know this guy.)

So one of the guys was like, “You know what you should do? Just cross your arms.” 

I’m like, “Just cross my arms?”

“Yeah. Just cross your arms. Like: Yo, I’m the man.” 

Everybody was gassing me up like this was the greatest idea ever. 

So I score a touchdown the next game, and I cross my arms like, Yo, I’m the man.

I thought it was cool. I get home after the game and I call Pa. I’m all sheepish….

“You watch the game, Pa?” 

“Pat. Patrick. CUT THAT SH*T OUT.”

I had to put it on mute, because I was dying laughing. You know in cartoons when the phone is like literally shaking? It was like that. It’s not even on speakerphone, but sounds like speakerphone. He was going on and on. 

“Pa….”

“Hand the ball to the damn REF-A-REE, Patrick.” 

“OK, Pa. OK.” 

Of course, I score in the next game, and my boys are gassing me up. 

“Do it!!! Do it!!!!”

I do it again. 

At this point, everyone knows. Even Coach Franklin’s wife and daughters know, and they think it’s the funniest thing in the world, so now they’re doing this stupid I’m the Man pose, and they’re sending the pictures to Pa.

Imagine a 70-year-old man sitting in his chair, grumpy as hell, getting a text message from a 10-year-old. 

“Huh??? What the heck is this??? I can’t see…. Where’s my glasses…..”

He hit the friggin’ roof. 

He was calling my mom. He was calling my aunt. 

“Tell Patrick…. CUT THAT FUNNY SH*T OUT!!!”

No matter how hard my day is now, I think about that and I just start crying laughing. You had to know him. He was one of a kind. But there’s a million of him out there, in blue collar towns all over the northeast. 

He would have absolutely loved Pittsburgh. 

He would have loved me being a Steeler.

He actually passed away just a few months before I got drafted. The whole funeral, I held it together. It wasn’t until we got in the car and my brother put on “That’s Life” by Sinatra that I lost it. 

It was so bittersweet, because he knew that I was going to live my dream. But he didn’t quite get to see it happen. But in a lot of ways, he’s still here. I still have every single note he ever wrote to me. I say a prayer to him before every game. Every time I run out of the tunnel, I’m playing in his honor. I remember my rookie year here in Pittsburgh, I went through a really tough stretch. I fumbled against the Lions in overtime. Then a few weeks later I had a chance to catch a late touchdown against the Vikings. Harrison Smith made a hell of a play to knock it loose. Still, I should’ve held on. I remember talking to my brother during that time, and I felt like I let the whole city down. I actually remember telling him, “I don’t know if I have it at this level.”

Two people really got me through that time. 

One was Coach T. 

When I fumbled against the Lions, I remember walking into the facility the next day, and Coach T was one of the first people I saw in the lobby. He came right up to me and said, “I’m coming back to you every single time in that situation.” 

That gave me so much confidence. But when I dropped the pass against the Vikings, I was crushed. I was thinking, “Man, they’re going to cut me. This is not the standard.”

Like clockwork, the first person I see in the facility the next day is Ben Roethlisberger. He comes right up to me, exactly like Coach T, and he says, “Hey, don’t hold your head. You know I’m going right back to you in that situation, right?”

That’s why those guys are both Hall of Famers. They could’ve frozen me out at that moment, but they pumped me back up. From the day that I walked into this culture, I knew that it was different. It’s not a cliché. It’s real. You see the way that the legends come back — the Polamalus, the Keisels, the Aaron Smiths, Joey Porters — it’s almost more like a college family atmosphere. It’s generational. Hall of Famers are coming around like its homecoming week, but it's just a random Tuesday. 

Pa would’ve loved it. 

(“I like that Coach Tomlin. No bullsh*t.”)

There was a third person that got me through my rookie year. More than one person, really. It was all of you. Steeler Nation. I’m not gonna lie, you gave me some tough love. I needed it. But I’ll never forget showing up to my first day of training camp, and I don’t even think we had the pads on yet, we were just catching some balls, and I heard it for the first time……

“Mmmmuuuuuuthhhhhhh.”

I thought I was hallucinating. 

Come on. It’s training camp. Now, of course, I had heard all the stories. Heath Miller actually gave me a call when I got drafted here. (And we’re still close to this day). He was the one who told me, “You know what’s going to happen right? Don’t worry, they’re not booing you.” 

But I thought: Yeah, right. I’m a rookie, man. I’m the backup tight end. Come on. 

He said, “You don’t understand. This is Pittsburgh. Get ready.” 

First day of camp. 

“Mmmmmuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuttttthhhhhhhhhh!!!!!”

Three-yard out. 

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmuuuuuuuuuutttttthhhhhhhh!!”

Every time I touched the ball. It was unbelievable. 

I was in Bermuda this offseason with my girlfriend, Jillian. Bermuda. Like the Bermuda Triangle. Off the grid. We’re walking in to dinner at this nice restaurant. It’s dark. Candle-lit. I mean…. I’m Pat Freiermuth. I’m not even really recognizable. I’m just a dude. 

As we’re about to sit down ….. We hear it. Real quiet, real polite ….. We hear….

“mmmmmuuuuttthhhhh.”

In Bermuda, bro. 

There’s something about the Steelers that is just different. I grew up a die-hard Pats fan. My family are all Pats fans. But even they will tell you the truth. Boston is an incredible sports city. But Pittsburgh is Pittsburgh. 

Where else would you have a situation play out like the one we’ve had with Justin and Russ this season? I feel like in most locker rooms, that could’ve been a tense situation. But everyone from Russ to Justin to the coaches to the organization have handled it with class and turned it into a positive. Some QBs who have done what Russ has done in his career, if they had gotten hurt in camp like that, it would’ve been: “Alright, I’m going to rehab with my guys. I’ll see you in Week 1.” But Russ was with us in the building every step on the way, helping Justin be the quarterback that he wants to be. I can’t speak for every other locker room, but I feel like that’s really unique in the NFL. Seeing those two guys interact every day, and just being all about one another and the betterment of the team, it was contagious. Zero jealousy. Zero resentment. Russ was just an awesome leader. The whole team felt the vibe shift. It was the best camp atmosphere we’ve had since I’ve been here. And then we saw Justin spin that football. I remember one of the first days, when they finally started opening up the playbook, Justin took a deep shot down down the field to GP on a post, and it was into a really tight window — one of those tight, tight NFL windows — and there’s only a handful of guys in the world who can hit that window. 

Justin hit it. And you could feel all the guys just looking at one another like: Damn. He’s legit. We’re gonna be OK. We’re gonna be more than OK. 

Just his presence in the huddle, his confidence — and the way Russ has helped him build that confidence — it’s been awesome to watch. I’m still in a group text with my boys from New England that I grew up with, and it’s just like everybody else’s group text with their boys. They’d be asking me, “How’s your QBs bro? What do you think?”

And my response was, “We got two damn good ones.” 

It’s funny actually because when I first got drafted, our group text was basically still a Pats Fan Group Text. You know how Boston is…. These guys were die-hard, die-hard Pats fans. (“13 friggin’ parades in 20 years, bro!!!” Those kind of guys.) A few weeks into my first season, these guys are still texting about like Belichick and the Pats rookies and everything, and I’m not even responding. Every once in a while, they’d toss me a “Oh yeah Pat, good game bud. That was a sick catch. How’s Tomlin? Is he cool?”

But then they’d be back to talking about Dont’a Hightower or whatever. 

Finally, I was like, “Alright guys, I’m leaving the chain. I can’t do this. You gotta start a new Patriots group.”

So they started a fresh group for Pats talk without me, and we kept our chain going, and I swear to God, within two seasons, I had fully converted them over. My boys are now huge Steelers fans. (I can’t print their names, for their own safety.) These guys are wearing Pat Freiermuth and T.J. Watt jerseys around Boston now, in enemy territory, getting full-on abuse every Sunday. They love it. They relish it. 

Like I said: Boston is Boston. But Pittsburgh is Pittsburgh. 

I feel so fortunate to be able to be wearing the black and gold for another four years, and hopefully for the rest of my career. When I signed my extension a few weeks ago, I was smiling ear to ear, man. I know what my job means. I know who came before me. All their names still ring out, every time I touch the ball. When you’re saying Muth, you’re really saying Heath, you’re really saying David, Jesse, Vance, and all the rest. It’s like an homage to all the guys who did the dirty work in the trenches over the years. The guys who only the “real fans” know. 

The only difference is, in Pittsburgh, there’s 68,000 real fans in that stadium. 

We’re going to need y’all on Sunday night. Dallas Cowboys. Under the lights. That fall smell in the air. Renegade blasting.

Just like we used to dream about when we were running out of the shed in the backyard. 

If I happen to score and I just hand the damn ball to the referee, now you know who I’m doing it for. 

Here we go,

— Pat